Death came into our house softly, lightly

like a balloon,

hovering near, willing us to touch it.

It filled the place at the table

that should have been empty

and walked around us, waiting behind doors.

After a while it found its place,

sticking to corners

and rolling out in the dark.

It listened quietly while we talked,

our voices straining higher, higher,

adding letters to his name.

And after a while you hear that its been in another house

and you see their calm eyes crash against the walls

and you say: I too was new to this once,

and it´s strange that once there was a time without it,

or people who´ve never met it,

when now it is part of your life.

and what makes us different, now,

so silent and cool,

when more and more it fills the room

and others shriek and pound the door

and only we creep to the familiar corners

and sigh.